When single moms get sleepy

I just built Sophie’s new big-girl bed all by myself, which is making me feel like a big girl myself. It’s an ikea bed that I found on craig’s-list, brought home, and constructed all on my own. I’m glad it turned out to not be too daunting a construction task, because I was dreading it. This is the week when I’m starting to remember how hard it is to be a single-parent.

Yesterday, after my 90-minute-each-way commute and my first-day-of-classes exhaustion, taking care of Sophie’s neediness started to seem more than I can handle. “Momma is tired, today,” I told her this morning, when she was whining that neither her cereal nor her homemade strawberry smoothie nor her buttered toast (carefully buttered while she watched, perched in my aching arms while I buttered one-handed, as she prefers) none of that was what she wanted for breakfast. She wanted a crumpet, she didn’t care that we’re out of crumpets, she thought I should go get groceries RIGHT NOW.

“Momma’s tired,” I told her, wiping up the spilled milk and trying to get the dishes clean and the laundry done and Sophie fed. I had been up since 5:30, jetlagged and taking that early-morning time to write lectures.

When Sophie woke up, she didn’t want to wear any clothes, didn’t want to have her hair brushed, didn’t understand that shouting “Daddy” at the top of her lungs won’t bring him back from England any sooner. I snapped at her, even though she can’t help it that she’s a two-year-old doing two-year-old-ish things. Then I apologized and explained, “Momma’s tired today.”

“Momma wake up,” she said. Sensible girl. If only it were that easy.

Maybe, shifting her from my bed into her new big-girl bed will help me wake up. We’ll see.